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grains oops brains....
Blain watched as the four dead hulking masses of flesh and bone feasted on his still screaming friend. He knew it was to late to save his friend, but when their eyes met Blain couldn't look away. He was trapped watching the terror as the wounding bites came closer to fatal. The time seeming to have all but stopped till after the seven seconds it took for the risen dead to finally snuff out his friend's life. The horror and pain that locked their gazes was fading and the dull reflection of death was all that was left.
Blain still petrified in shock as the pack got its fill on his friend, trying to open his mouth to scream Blain fines his voice is gone. Then thinks back to why they came way from sheltered and the rest of his friends need him. Steeling himself with images of his friends and loved ones, he tightens his grip on the broken iron pipe. Knowing that in just a few seconds those four insatiable husks of hunger will be five and one of them will be a childhood friend. None of them can live he knows that the shelters safety depends on not being followed.
He runs at the pack not screaming but quiet and determined, stepping into the swing as the pipe connects, as the disembodied head hits the ground in the distance Blain thinks to himself foul ball. He brings the make shift bat down on the next targets half exposed brain. Knocking it's skull to the floor with the same sound as a bowl of jell-o thrown at a brick wall, he things ground single.
The zombie ducks under the pipe just in time and it throws Blain a little off balance. The Risen flesh takes its feet slowly and Blain mutters to himself, “Damn Strike one”
